When the time will come, we will never know
And when the time really comes, you will have to let go
But when the time after comes, may we have our next hello.
Have no fear,
The Almighty is here,
For He is never far but always near,
And you’ll be alright, my dear.
She’ll tell you stories of the galaxies about him time after time,
like how the stars sang lullabies to the sun,
and like how darkness blankets the sun to sleep,
for its an oscillate representation of how his heart was hers to keep.
And she’ll tell you stories of the galaxies about him time again,
but never on an oath of planets and galaxies that stays the same,
where she was the sun and he was the moon,
and her stories of the galaxies about him would come to an end far too soon.
But she’ll tell you stories of the galaxies about him again – this time increasing sync to her own heartbeat,
hoping for a moment in time where day and night could just meet,
for that was the only wish she asked upon the night stars,
though she fathom it could’ve even took its trip anywhere near Mars.
Alas, she didn’t know she was wishing upon her own,
for she was the star in the daylight tone,
but a twinkle of hope was far better than her rays in light of fears,
even if, time was injustly count in light years.
She’ll tell stories of the galaxies about him a less more,
and also on the gloomy day where the rain poured,
and maybe then, she’s ready to end,
that the sun and the moon were never meant,
or maybe it was just the time – they never had to spend.
Too much of anything can give you sickly pixie dust
Knowing too much can get you hurt pretty fast
A blessing beast of too much beauty can also be a belle’s curse
What more the too much goodness of a pure heart’s verse
Thinking it’s destines for the lost of a first love that never parts
But sometimes, it’s all much to never at a lover’s deck of cards
And sometimes, it’s never too much to remember
For it’s edged in memory carved in together
All meant for a selfish delusional reason of a time called forever.
A saying by a broken heart that has its mastery of shattered courage at its finest, yet daring not to look back, it’s done.
Out with the sunshine, in with the storms. Maybe it isn’t that bad afterall.
Walls still unpainted of what used to be
Resting her gaze she brewed her tea
A sip it spoke to the speaker of the heart’s content
While thoughts came by and blame took its rounds of dent and unvent
And time played its card and left it scarred at the poor girl’s heart
But maybe it could’ve been sealed if she answered the odds appeal
Like learning the probability of nine to one that tea was not written in The Divine’s will
Or the mechanism that tea was just a nemesis of a puffed definition for beautitude bliss
For it has been carelessly heaved for the certainty of please
Alas, she then sipped a last sip and last teased, “How about a talk over coffee miss?”
But maybe, she’ll still have her tea like how it all used to be,
As the acquainted taste is what the matters of her heart only speaks
Brewing it, she provoked; How can a sip of tea exquisitely take its kill by heat
But, a wrath remains that coffee will forever foreordain than tea.